One day the farmer made up his mind to cultivate a certain field, in the centre of which he had an extensive cow-pen, inclosed by a ten-rail fence. To prepare the way he wanted that fence taken down, carried rail by rail to the corner of the field, and there piled up. He put one of his new hands to work at this interesting job, and went home, probably to take a nap. The survivor toted rails that day on one shoulder until it was bleeding, and then on the other until that was too sensitive. Then he walked over to see how the other "hand" was getting along with the horse and mule team and the harrow.
He found him very warm, very much exasperated, using excited language, beating the animals, and declaring that no man under the sun ever encountered such formidable difficulties in the pursuit of agricultural profit. He explained that the horse was too large and the mule too small; the traces were too old, and would break every few yards; the harness was dropping to pieces; the teeth constantly dropping out of the harrow; and the harrow itself ready to tumble into firewood. In addition to these annoyances, the mule and the horse alternated between going the wrong way and not going at all. The man almost wept as he described the aggravating calmness of the animals. When a trace broke they turned, gazed on the wreck, stood still, groaned (by way of a sigh), and seemed to say, "One more brief respite, thank Providence! Fifteen minutes to tie up that old chain, at least!" After a careful survey of the situation and some tolerably accurate guesses as to the proximity of the dinner hour, the two battered remnants of the glorious old army decided to suspend operations, and slowly wended their way to the house: one carrying his lacerated shoulders, and the other steering the remains of the harrow.
It had been agreed—indeed, the "remnants" had insisted—that they were to be directed about their work and made to serve exactly as the negro hands would have been had they remained. But, so novel was the situation, the farmer had constantly to be reminded of his authority. At last a bright idea occurred to the farmer. He would undertake a little extra-fine work for a neighbor, and thus relieve the survivors of the monotony of the hoe, the plow, and the harrow. Some old ladies wanted their household goods moved from one house to another, and we were to undertake the job.
The entire force consisted of the mule and the cart thereto belonging, and the bull and his cart. The mule had precedence in the line, and was closely followed by the bull. The farmer walked in front as pioneer, the elder survivor drove the mule, and the hero of the cow-pen held the chain which agonized the bull when necessary.
At the brow of a certain long hill, which the humble mule had quietly walked down, the bull halted for meditation. His impatient and less romantic driver thoughtlessly gave the chain a rude jerk. In an instant he felt himself whirled down that hill at breakneck speed. Almost simultaneous with the start was the shock of the stop. Picking himself up, the driver found his cart securely fastened to a pine-tree, which was jammed between the wheel and the body of it. The steed was unhurt, but excited. After a long coaxing the farmer persuaded him to back far enough to disengage the cart, and the progress continued.
The furniture was found in a small room, up a crooked and narrow stairs. Nothing was as large as the furniture. How to get it out was a conundrum. One of the survivors suggested to the farmer to knock off the roof of the house, and take it out that way. But he wouldn't hear of it. Finally, the cart was driven under the eaves, and while "those whose past services had endeared them to their countrymen" rolled the furniture out of the window and lowered it "by hand" from the eaves, the farmer stowed it in the cart. The ladies, though greatly agitated by the imminent danger of the furniture, found time to admire the ingenuity and originality of the plan and the intrepid daring of its execution. The farmer, who had several times been in danger of having himself mashed flat, was entirely overlooked. Both the carts being loaded, the train moved off in good order.
After a few days the farmer mounted one of the men, "not conquered, but wearied with victory," on the mule, gave him an old meal-bag, and sent him to a neighbor's for meal and bacon. He got, say, a peck of one and a pound or two of the other. This proceeding was repeated at intervals of a day or two, and finally led to the conclusion that the farmer was living from hand to mouth certainly, and in all probability on charity. Besides, the "new hands" felt a growing indisposition, owing to the meagre supplies on the table, to allow themselves any latitude in the matter of eating. So they resolved to try the good old plan of days gone by, and send out a foraging party. The plans were discussed at length, and everything decided.
One morning, early, the senior of the "endeared" survivors took the road for Richmond, distant about fourteen miles, intending there to lay in food, tobacco, pipes, information, and any other little thing calculated to brighten life on a farm. During his absence the other forlorn survivor groaned with impatience and doubt, questioning the possibility of a man returning to such a place after seeing the luxurious supplies of good eating on exhibition by the Yankee sutlers in Richmond.
But he did return, like a good comrade, bringing his "plunder" with him. He made the round trip of twenty-eight miles on foot, and at midnight reached the "quarters" with cold ham, good bread, pipes, smoking tobacco, chewing tobacco, a few clean clothes, and a good pair of shoes, which one of the party needed. These were the gift of an old friend in town. Sitting on the bedside, as morning approached, they made a hearty meal, and then smoked, smoked, smoked, as only men can smoke who love to smoke and have not had the wherewithal for a week or two.
The returned forager told of the strange sights he had seen in town. Some young Confederates, who were smart, were at work in the ruins cleaning bricks at five dollars a day. Others had government work, as clerks, mechanics, and laborers, earning from one to five dollars a day. The government had established commissary stores at different points in the city, where rations were sold, at nominal prices, to those who could buy, and supplied gratis to those who could not. He had seen gray-haired old gentlemen, all their lives used to plenty, standing about these places, waiting "their turn" to "draw." Soldiers marched by twos and fours and by companies, everywhere. Captains and lieutenants, sergeants and corporals, were the masters of the city and a sort of temporary Providence, dictating what sort of clothes the people were to wear, what they might eat, what they might do, what they might say and think; in short, allowing the people to live, as it were, on a "limited" ticket.